


Paper Airplanes

by pinkhairedhoe



Series: dramione x taylor swift [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jealousy, blood mention, sixth year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkhairedhoe/pseuds/pinkhairedhoe
Summary: Now sixth-years, Hermione and Draco are reunited in the safety of Hogwarts. After a chaotic school year, they're relieved to have some normalcy.All seems well, until it isn't.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (minor), Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: dramione x taylor swift [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953100
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. Fall Back Together

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for the love on breakable heaven!
> 
> fic and chapter title taken from out of the woods and dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift
> 
> twitter: @pinkhairedh0e
> 
> (tags subject to change/update)

It was the morning of September first. All across Britain, wizarding children were starting the school year at Hogwarts.

Hermione Granger, now in her sixth year, stood at Platform 9 ¾ anxiously looking around for three people—namely her two closest friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and her boyfriend of about six months, Draco Malfoy, the last of whom she hadn't been able to speak to since June.

She played with the necklace he had gifted her several months prior as she stared at the enchanted brick column, waiting to see either silver blond, jet black, or red hair emerge. 

_I'd expect lateness from Ron or Harry, but not Draco._

Suddenly, a redhead appeared from out of the column, wheeling a luggage trolley, and gasped.

“Hermione!” Ginny squealed. “It’s so nice to see you, even though you were just over a month ago.”

Ginny’s older brother followed after, along with Molly. 

“Hermione, dear! Arthur and Fred and George say hello,” Molly said sweetly, giving the girl a hug. “Merlin, you’re all so grown up, going into your sixth year.”

Hermione smiled and turned to Ron for another hug. 

“Have you seen Harry?” Ron asked quietly. 

She shook her head. 

_The Dursleys can’t keep him from coming to Hogwarts, can they?_

“It’ll be alright,” he said, looking at the clock. “It’s five til eleven, he’ll be here.”

“I hope so.”

“I mean, we always find a way to get to school.”

“The last time you used an alternate method the Whomping Willow nearly killed you both, or do you not remember?”

“It still _worked,_ didn’t it?”

“I wouldn't call almost getting expelled and risking your lives _successful_!”

Molly caught wind of the conversation and snapped at Ron, “No talk of that! You mention it one more time and you'll be de-gnoming the lawn by yourself!”

He swallowed. “Yes, Mum,” he said, lowering his tone to a whisper to say, “You’re one to talk, ‘Mione.”

“Oh hush.”

_10:57, now._

Hermione immediately began to feel that she was being watched. Very carefully, she turned her head to look at the next section of the platform.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a tall, well dressed figure with blond hair. He had a pompous sneer on his face that only further confirmed he was Lucius Malfoy. The slightly shorter boy next to him must have been Draco, who she couldn't get a good look at without being overly conspicuous. 

Ron noticed her observation and eyed the Malfoys. “I’ll get him for you,” he offered. 

“ _No,_ ” she whispered harshly. “No violence before school even starts.”

“It was a _joke_.”

She continued to look, and soon saw a woman with black hair, which was heavily streaked with white, hug Draco to her chest. _His mother_.

“Wait, Ron, what’s Mrs. Malfoy’s name?”

“Uh, think it's Narcissa.”

Lucius’s gaze drifted toward Hermione and she jerked her eyes away to avoid suspicion. He knew too much as it was. 

“Hello? What am I, chopped liver?”

Hermione turned around in shock to see her friend Harry, Hedwig and his luggage in tow. Overjoyed, she wrapped her arms around him. 

“There you are, barely on time,” she chided, watching the train arrive from over her shoulder.

“Could be worse,” Harry said in a surprisingly grave tone. 

Hermione made to ask what was wrong, but his eyes quickly looked to Lucius and he shook his head no.

_Can’t discuss it right now, then._

The train pulled in completely and gave a high whistle. 

“Go on, children, no time to waste—oh, Harry! Come here!” Molly said, giving the boy a kiss on the forehead. “I was getting worried, but lovely to see you.”

Harry smiled and looked to Ron and Hermione. “So? Shall we?”

His expression was superficially happy, and something odd played in his eyes. Hermione couldn't quite pin it down, but it twisted her stomach into a knot.

After leaving most of their bags to be packed into the luggage compartment, the trio walked down the narrow corridor of the train to arrive at their traditional compartment.

In an enclosed space the tension was only amplified.

“Could you tell me what’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked gently.

Her friend closed his eyes and took a long breath. “It’s a lot of things. For one—I keep having nightmares, bad dreams. Visions of Voldemort.”

The mood went from merely uncomfortable to depressing.

“The other thing, my aunt and uncle are nearly unbearable,” he muttered. 

“And they weren't before?” Ron asked indignantly. “Blimey, they used to keep you locked up like a dog!”

“It’s not that again, I’m just sick of being berated every single day. I’m still Dudley’s personal punching bag.”

“You turn seventeen soon—you can leave on your birthday, can’t you?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “Can’t come fast enough.”

There was a rapping on the compartment door and Ron leaned forward to slide it open.

The trolley witch was smiling happily at the somewhat grim group. 

“Would you like anything, dearies?”

A few moments later, Ron and Harry were gleefully trading candies while Hermione sipped pumpkin juice.

The Weasley boy took a bite of a pasty and swallowed. “I forgot to ask—did you do okay without talking to Malfoy? Maybe I asked when you were at the Burrow, I can’t remember.” 

“I don't believe you did, and I did just fine.”

_I’m lying a little._

She’d told her parents the barest of details about Draco, excluding his virulently pureblood family as not to scare them. She excused the lack of owls as him being on holiday and cried herself to sleep more often than she’d admit aloud. Her fingers were always on the necklace.

“That’s good,” he said absentmindedly, moving along to a Chocolate Frog. He put the candy into his mouth in one go and frantically checked the card.

“Ugh, another Armando Dippet,” Ron groaned. He tossed it onto the growing pile of wrappers and rubbish between him and Harry.

“Slow down, you’ll make yourselves sick,” Hermione said.

The boys ignored her entirely and she continued to gaze out the window. For a moment, she considered trying to find Draco on the train, but she didn't even see him board.

_It’s more likely I’ll waste my time._

-

The train came to a halt. 

Harry poked Ron, who had fallen asleep an hour prior.

“Oi, we’re here.”

The boy stirred. “I’m awake, stop it!”

“Your snoring said otherwise,” Hermione said.

Upon arrival to the castle itself, the veritable flood of students filed into the Great Hall, with the first years taken away to have the Sorting explained to them.

The three clapped when a student was sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, meanwhile all three cheered happily when Gryffindor gained a new member. Harry and Ron grumbled when anyone was sorted into Slytherin, and Hermione glared at them. 

“They’re clearly not all bad,” she whispered.

“It’s the principle of it, Hermione!” Ron insisted.

“You’re both ridiculous.”

Dumbledore stood once each first-year had made their way to their respective house tables, and began, “Good evening to all of you as we begin another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The feast will begin promptly, however, I have a few important announcements to make.”

“Firstly, I would like to announce that Professor Snape has accepted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and will no longer be teaching Potions.”

“He’s been gunning for that post for years,” Ron muttered.

“Brilliant,” Harry said under his breath. “Snape’s ego is going to be bigger than ever.”

With her full attention on the high table for the first time, Hermione noticed a new professor. He was clearly in his sixties, had thinning grey hair, and was dressed in a moss green suit. There was a kindly smile on his face.

“Please, join me in welcoming former Head of Slytherin house and our returned Potions professor, Professor Horace Slughorn,” Dumbledore said.

The man, presumably Professor Slughorn, stood and bowed, waving to the Slytherin table.

“He was Potions Professor here at Hogwarts for many years, and Horace has generously volunteered to fill the vacancy left by Professor Snape.”

“He doesn't seem awful,” Hermione offered.

“It would be hard to be worse than Snape,” Ron said.

“Now, with that out of the way, let us eat!”

Dumbledore clapped his hands together and the usual diverse spread of food appeared on the tables.

Hermione took the opportunity while her friends were distracted by a dish of mashed potatoes to find Draco. He looked a little disinterested, or maybe it was just tiredness. _I’ll talk to him after dinner._

-

Hermione rushed to the complete other side of the castle to catch Draco leaving. 

“Draco.”

“Hermione,” he breathed.

They embraced.

“It's been too long,” he mumbled, pushing her hair away from her face to kiss her.

“Do you have a moment? I know you need to unpack and all, but I would like to see you for a while.”

“Sure, of course.”

They stepped outside into the cool air of the evening. It was past sunset now and the stars were beginning to appear.

“How was summer for you?” she asked gently.

His jaw stiffened. “It was fine.”

Hermione wanted to pry further but set the urge aside.

“I missed you,” Draco continued. 

“I missed you too,” she said. “Was something wrong during the feast? You just seemed, I dunno, unhappy.”

“Just tired.”

“Ron fell asleep on the train. I’m not sure why, but the first day is always exhausting.”

“Excuse me, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape said. He was standing in the open doorway with pursed lips.

“My sincerest apologies for interrupting your _reunion_ , but I believe you should be unpacking in your dormitories,” the professor said smoothly. “In fact, both of you, come with me.”

They reluctantly followed the man back into the castle, his robes billowing behind. The three stopped at the steps of Gryffindor tower and Snape closely watched Hermione enter.

_At least he didn’t take points away._

She grumbled a bit as she took her clothes and school supplies from her trunk, and unlocked Crookshanks’ carrier. He purred appreciatively and set off in search of a mouse or bird.

-

The next morning, Harry arrived somewhat late to Potions class, with Ron in tow. The dark haired boy took the empty desk next to Hermione.

“Was this class on your schedule?” she asked under her breath.

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“Hello, everyone! Pleased to see you've chosen to take N.E.W.T level Potions!” Slughorn said cheerfully.

The class was relatively small, maybe ten students at the most. Draco was at the back of the room—he and Hermione had walked in together.

“I didn't bloody _choose_ anything,” Harry muttered. “McGonagall sent me here.

“Hush, he’s talking,” Hermione scolded.

“Now, today we’ll be having a sort of contest to test your abilities. I’ll be selecting a potion from the textbook, and whoever makes it most successfully shall win . . . this,” the professor announced, drawing a vial of metallic silver liquid from his coat pocket. “Can anyone tell me what this is?

Her eyes widened and she instantly raised her hand.

“Miss . . . ah, what’s your name?”

“Granger, Professor, Hermione Granger. That potion is Felix Felicis, or liquid luck. The name is rather self-explanatory. It makes the drinker lucky, but it can also lead to recklessness.”

Slughorn beamed at her proudly. “Most excellent, Miss Granger. Twenty points to Gryffindor.”

_This is already going far better than any class with Snape ever did._

The pesky feeling in her gut told her that wouldn't last long.  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Seems So Simple

At breakfast the next day, Harry was showing off his prize.

“I can’t believe you got the liquid luck,” Ron murmured in awe.

Harry grinned and put the vial back into his pocket. “Guess I’m better at Potions than I thought.”

“What're you gonna use it for?”

He shrugged. “Haven't decided yet.”

“Are you really just going to carry that around all day?” Hermione asked.

“Of course I am.”

She groaned. “You know that winning some silly contest doesn't actually _mean_ anything?"

“Lighten up, it’s no big deal. You can win next time.”

Even if she wasn't able to see him, she’d still be able to hear his face-splitting smile in his voice.

Hermione glared at him with the fury of an offended hippogriff. The dark haired boy’s face went slack and colorless.

“Hermione, I’m not seriously saying I’m smarter than you, I just got . . . lucky, I guess.”

Ron paused his chewing to take the opportunity to change the subject. “When are tryouts for Quidditch again?

“Saturday,” Harry said. 

“Are you nervous about your first year as captain?” Hermione asked.

“A little,” he said, eyeing the Slytherin table. “Tell your boyfriend to take it easy, will you?”

“I’ll pass that along."

Classes were normal—relatively light given that it was the first week of the year. Hermione somehow finished the day with only a few homework assignments.

Draco was sitting alone in the library when she walked in.

“There you are,” she whispered, glancing around to make sure Madam Pince wasn't nearby to screech at them.

His eyes softened but his face stayed neutral. She didn't recognize the book in front of him on the table.

“Are you studying?”

“You could say that,” he said.

Hermione stretched her hand out to pull it toward her, but he closed it suddenly.

She didn't have time to process before he was talking about something entirely unrelated.

“Do you like Slughorn better than Snape?” he asked.

Hermione pressed her lips together. “He’s clearly very nice, and a good professor, but I already worry he may play favorites the same way.”

Draco snorted. “So you only care when you’re not the teacher’s pet?”

She cocked her head and playfully hit his arm. “You’re not wrong, but you didn’t have to say it like that.”

“Potter doesn’t need any more attention though, you are right about that.”

“It’s not as if he asked for it. I’ve never understood when people are jealous of him,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Having your parents killed is nothing to envy, though I can’t decide if pity or vicious jealousy is worse.”

“Pity,” Draco said. “Jealousy at least means you have something everyone wants—pity is the opposite. You have something everyone is glad they're not stuck with."

“I think they want what Harry has for the wrong reasons. They don’t understand how much he's been through.”

“People are dense, darling.”

“I couldn't imagine the weight of everyone’s preconceived notions about me on my shoulders like that.”

“Wonder what that feels like,” he said casually.

“I suppose you would know.”

“I do. It feels good when someone sets them aside.” 

He took her hand in his and gently traced his thumb back and forth.

She smiled a little at him.

“I mean, I always thought you were a prudish stick in the mud, and that’s clearly not true.”

“Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

“My reputation holds,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“I love you,” she said, shaking her head at him.

“I love you too.”

Hermione forgot about the book.

-

Ginny stormed aggressively into the common room late that evening, pulling off her scarf.

Hermione looked up from her parchment. 

“Should I even ask?”

The Weasley girl took a long breath and rubbed her temples.

“It’s Dean, because of course it is. He’s jealous because he saw me talking to Cormac. Bloody hell, if he wasn't on the Quidditch team I wouldn't talk to him at all,” she fumed. “He’s a pompous pretty boy.”

“It's been three days, Ginny, how have you already managed to fight with him?”

“We always fight. I mean, not always. Once a week.”

Hermione looked alarmed. “Once a week?”

“At least,” she mumbled. “He’s lovely, I swear, he just drives me batty.”

“I can’t really claim to be any better in my relationship.”

“But you’re good for Draco,” Ginny said. “He's not nearly so awful now.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to tell him,” she deadpanned.

“Dean’s always spending time with Seamus and I never complain about it,” she continued. “Maybe I should start.”

“Don’t just do it to start an argument, If it actually bothers you then tell him.”

 _I never thought I'd see the day when I was giving_ Ginny Weasley _love advice._

“I don’t actually _want_ to fight more, it’s exhausting.”

“Clearly you're fired up about it. Sleep on it then,” Hermione suggested. “If you're still upset in the morning then talk to him.”

“That’s a good idea, actually. I’ll try that.” Ginny sighed and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” she said, giving the older girl a hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Ron looked up from his game of chess with Harry and watched his sister disappear up the staircase.

“Oi, what's she on about?” he asked, turning to Hermione. 

She set aside her essay and stood. “I’m surprised you couldn't hear her even from across the room.”

“Is it Dean again? If he hurt her—”

“He didn't hurt her, calm down. What is with you and Ginny dating Dean?”

Ron tightened his jaw. “I just don't like it, is all.”

“She’s old enough to decide who to date, it’s none of your business. You did the same nonsense with me and Draco.”

“She’s my _sister_! Bloody hell, she can date who she likes but I don’t want to hear my dorm mate talking about it.”

Harry was visibly uncomfortable and there was a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Come on Harry, don’t you agree with me?” Ron asked. 

Hermione was using every ounce of restraint she had not to laugh. 

“Er, sure, Ron. It’s awkward, I guess,” he stammered.

“See! Great minds think alike!

“But fools rarely differ.”

“You’re outnumbered, ‘Mione. Majority rule.”

“I relent,” she said sarcastically. “Good luck stopping her, though.” She returned to her essay and sat back down on the sofa.

Harry gave Hermione a grateful look. Ron just grumbled to himself and resumed the game of chess.   
  
  
  



	3. So We Could Dance

Somehow, Hermione had been dragged to observe the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts against her will.

She had nothing against supporting her friends—that wasn't the part she disliked. The real problem was that cocky seventh-year Cormac McLaggen, the one Ginny spoke to, had taken a shine to Hermione. 

_ I've literally never talked to him before. _

Needless to say, Hermione's idea of a perfect Saturday morning wasn't exactly being hit on by an “obnoxious prick”, as Ron described it. McClaggen was apparently the sort who believed every girl would willingly swoon at his feet if given the chance. She would have rather done detention with Snape.

“I told him you already had a boyfriend but I think it went in one ear and out the other,” Ron muttered, glaring back at the blond seventh-year.

From behind she could hear Cormac calling her name and it turned her stomach.

_ Ugh.  _

Hermione tensed and quickened her pace away from the pitch.

“If he’s stupid enough to keep it up, Draco won't be happy about it,” she said.

“He’s certainly stupid,” Harry agreed. “Rude too. I really hope he’s just having a bad day because I couldn't stand him out there.”

“Alright, you two need to bathe,” Hermione said, backing away.

“Why, are we sweaty or something?” Harry joked. He made a show of sniffing his arms and making a confused expression.

Ron waved his padding at her and she ducked. 

The boys laughed and headed back up to the castle, talking as they walked.

_ I’ve a few hours before I’m supposed to meet Draco. _

Hermione decided to visit Hagrid.

The half-giant greeted her with a suffocating hug. 

“It’s good ter see yeh, I saw that they were doin’ tryouts earlier,” he said.

“The majority of the team graduated last year, so it’s mostly new players.”

She gratefully took a teacup and held it in both hands just for the warmth.

“Wha’ abou’ you an’ Malfoy, eh?”

“Summer was difficult,” she admitted. 

“His da’ knows, doesn’ he?”

“He doesn't know everything. Draco told him it was a way to get information about Harry,” Hermione explained.

“I remember now,” Hagrid said. ““Listen, I know yeh can trust Malfoy, but his father ain’t ter be messed with.

Lucius is a bad man, Hermione, I’ll tell yeh that much. One o’ the worst o’ ‘em back in the war.”

The man grunted in displeasure. “He got away with it though. Told the Ministry he was under the Imperius Curse, an’ they believed ‘em. Don't tell anyone, but if yeh ask me, I think it was the money.”

“Status seems to be everything in this world,” she said quietly.

While Hagrid and Hermione were fundamentally very different, they both knew what it was like to be looked down on.

In the brief silence, Hagrid set aside his teacup.

“It may feel like it is, but I promise yeh it’s not. Anyone who judges yeh on yer family or yer money or yer blood status ain’t worth dirt.”

Hermione smiled in spite of the somber mood.

“An’ yeh can tell ‘em I said it,” he said, grinning.

“If I ever need to, I will,” she promised.

-

Later that afternoon, Draco and Hermione were curled up on a sofa in the Room of Requirement. Hermione had decided on a lovely sort of living room or den. There was a roaring fireplace, assorted cushions and throw blankets, and a pretty, green and white floral wallpaper.

It wasn't fully to Draco’s personal tastes, but he didn't mind nor care.

“I wish I could express how  _ annoying _ he is, I was in the stands and I could hear him yell at Harry clear as day!” she complained. “The whole time he was blaming Ginny for his missed saves.”

“Sounds like a prat,” he said.

He had been absentmindedly listening to her ramble passionately about tryouts as he worked on something for Potions. 

“On top of it all, he was apparently asking Ron to set us up. He even winked at me from the pitch,” Hermione groaned.

A spark flared in Draco’s eyes. “He did what?”

“He asked Ron to set me up with him—after asking if I was single,” she repeated, looking up at him from where her head rested on his shoulder.

His writing hand went still and one eyebrow raised. “I hope Weasley answered correctly.”

“He swore up and down that he told Cormac I have a boyfriend, but he seems like the persistent type.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to find this bloke?” 

"Draco, I can assure you, Cormac McLaggen is no threat. He’s a meathead with no respect for women.”

“I know he’s not a threat, he’s just a bloody prick to my girlfriend.”

“If you really want to get back at him, you can always go at him on the Quidditch pitch,” Hermione offered.

He visibly flinched at the word ‘Quidditch’, but recovered quickly. “If you insist, darling.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “We’re trying to avoid ending up in the Headmaster’s office this year, remember?”

“I remember,” he mumbled.

“I just want a calm year. I want to do well on my exams, spend time with you, Ron, and Harry, and make it out alive. It doesn't feel like too much to ask.”

“It isn’t,” he said softly.

Her fingers brushed over the necklace where it sat at her collarbone. The stones glistened in the warm light.

Draco yawned suddenly and Hermione giggled.

“Do you want to take a nap?” she asked.

“I’ve not finished the essay,” he protested. He yawned again.

“But I didn't sleep too well last night.” 

His forearms leaned on his knees and his whole body looked tired. Hermione rested her hand on his cheek.

“We’re taking a nap.”

She took the parchment and quill from his hands and set them down on the low table in front of them.

Draco laid back, his eyelids already dropping closed. Hermione found a place between his arm and the back of the sofa.

She paused a moment to look at how different he seemed while asleep. The stress that seemed to have appeared on his face overnight had vanished. He looked calm, content even. His hair fell loosely over his forehead and curled a little in front of his ear. He was not the fearful, calloused boy, not the snippy bully, not the spoiled son. This was the Draco Hermione knew and loved. She was the only one who ever saw him that way.

The rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft crackling of firewood lulled her to sleep. 


	4. Couldn't Quite Forget

Cormac had, sadly, not let up his flirtation. Ron sighed heavily as he started to detail the seventh-year’s behavior at the first practice. 

“I wish I played Beater just to send a Bludger at his head,” the Weasley said. “He won’t leave Ginny alone either, her eye was twitching by the end of it.”

“McLaggen’s not even worth the trouble of yelling at,” Harry added. “Believe me, I tried. Wood would have beaten him over the head with his broom if he saw how he acts.”

The dark haired boy adjusted his glasses and returned to studying the Quidditch practice schedule. “Slytherin went for the slot before us again, they’re the bloody worst at ending on time,” he groaned.

“Again? Did you see Draco last time?” Hermione asked.

The boys exchanged a look. “No? I didn't see him when we got to the pitch,” Harry said.

“That’s odd. I mentioned Quidditch last Saturday and he just brushed it off.”

“Probably best for you if he’s not on the team, imagine having to cheer for _Slytherin,_ ” Ron said scandalously.

“Thank you for the silver lining, Ronald.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. _I always thought Malfoy liked playing Quidditch._

“I guess the happy couple is back at it again,” Ron muttered, glancing over his shoulder. He pretended to gag.

Hermione snapped out of her own thoughts and looked up to see that, indeed, Ginny and Dean were kissing. It was relatively tame, but Harry’s face was blushing tomato red at the sight.

“Do they _really_ have to snog in the common room _?_ Have some bloody decency.”

Ginny turned around and glared at her brother. “Just because no one’s kissing _you_ doesn’t mean you have to be mad about it.”

Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth and laughed.

“That was brilliant,” Harry said breathlessly.

“It wasn't that funny,” Ron grumbled.

After lunch, Hermione had an opening to talk to Draco during class. They were paired up for an assignment to practice the Water-Making Charm and were sat alone in the back of Flitwick’s classroom.

“Why didn't you tell me you weren't playing Quidditch this year?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“Too busy,” he replied quickly.

“I understand, I just always thought you enjoyed it.”

Draco sighed. “Enjoyed is a strong word. I liked beating Potter at least.”

“You know, if you’re having trouble balancing your coursework, I can always help,” she offered.

He shook his head briskly. “I’m doing just fine.”

“Okay. Just ask if you do need anything.”

Professor Flitwick approached their desk. “Mr. Malfoy, would you mind demonstrating the spell for me? I already saw Miss Granger do so very successfully.”

Draco turned his attention to the empty goblet in front of him.

“ _Aguamenti,_ ” he said. A crystal clear stream of water poured from his wand, filling the cup perfectly.

Flitwick stretched onto his tiptoes to observe the liquid. “Excellent work.” 

The blond boy nodded curtly and the professor waddled off to help other students. 

-

Hermione had assumed that a prime benefit of Draco quitting Quidditch would be more free time to spend with her. 

This was apparently not the case, as she found herself doing homework very much alone in the common room.

It did give her some time to reflect on his appearance and mannerisms during Charms. He was never particularly enthused about class, that much was normal—but the dark circles were there again. Hermione had seen Draco sleep deprived and he was more irritable than sluggish. There was a distinct heaviness to the way he moved, as if it was a great effort to do so, and it worried her. 

“Did your boyfriend ditch you?” Ginny said, sitting next to her.

“Huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn't trying to imply Draco was ignoring you if that isn't true. Just trying to make conversation,” the Weasley girl clarified. 

“Well, he might be. I don’t know.”

“Dean’s with Seamus again. I’m almost relieved.”

“Why? I thought you wanted to spend more time with him.”

“Well—” Ginny glanced around. “He started talking about things being serious.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Hermione asked, laughing.

“Not necessarily. I’m just not used to it.”

“You’ve had plenty of boyfriends, haven't you?”

“They all knew it was casual. It was just to have fun, not because I intended on falling in love and getting married.”

 _Did Dean try to_ propose _?_

Her face must have revealed her thoughts because Ginny quickly backtracked.

“No no no no, I don’t mean like that. I dunno, Dean seems really invested and I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“How long have you been together, since the end of last year?”

“We were sort of on and off until about April or late March.”

“That’s a long while.”

There was an unspoken question waiting on Hermione’s tongue and she considered whether or not she should ask it.

“Correct me if this is intrusive, but have you said I love you to each other?”

Ginny went pink. “Not to each other,” she said softly. “He’s said it.”

“And why haven't you said it back, if you don't mind?”

The girl buried her face in her hands. “It’s too embarrassing,” she said, muffled.

“Oh come, you’re not embarrassed by anything.”

“This is pretty bloody embarrassing, I assure you.”

“Tell me.”

She took a breath. “Promise you won’t breathe a word of this to _anybody_?"

“Promise.”

“Especially not my brothers?”

“I swear.”

Ginny swallowed. “Even before I went to Hogwarts,” she began, “I’ve sort of fancied Harry. I was a little kid and I was all star-struck by the Chosen One, and I thought it’d go away. He’s Ron’s best friend and he could never see me like that.”

_Little does she know._

“Once I started dating I thought it was all gone. I liked the boys well enough, I suppose. But now—”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “. . . so you can’t love Dean because you—”

“Don’t say it. I don’t know if that’s how I feel yet.”

“Alright,” she said gently. “Well, this isn't particularly fair to Dean.”

“I know it isn’t. He says it’s fine that I don’t say it back, but it doesn’t feel fine. I feel—I feel _trapped_ ,” she admitted.

“Don’t do anything rash, but maybe try to spend more time with him? Maybe you do have more genuine feelings, you’re just not aware of it yet.”

“Okay, I’ll try that. It’ll be alright, I'm just not used to things being more serious.”

Ginny fiddled with her sweater sleeve. “Thanks Hermione. It’s nice to have someone to talk about . . . girl things, I suppose.”

“You’re very welcome.”

_If things don’t work out with her and Dean, Harry’s going to have a nice surprise._  
  
  



	5. Hit The Brakes

Hermione awoke on the first Saturday of November. The air was electric with anticipation of the opening game of the Quidditch season later that day. Traditionally, it was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the whole school was buzzing. Several bets had already been placed on the winner.

At lunchtime, Ron was bouncing his leg so hard the table was shaking.

“Ron, I know you're nervous, but I can’t eat like this,” Hermione said.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“You’ll do just fine,” Harry assured him. “You’re a good Keeper.”

Ron’s eyes were fixed on Cormac further down the table. As a reserve player, he was in his uniform just in case. 

“Bloody hell, he is _not_ coming over here,” the Weasley said.

_Merlin._

Cormac swaggered over and clapped a hand on Ron and Harry’s backs. They both grimaced. “Good afternoon, boys.”

“Afternoon,” Harry grumbled.

“And of course, good afternoon to the lady,” he said with a wink.

She swallowed down the rising nausea in her throat and gave him an uncomfortably stretched smile. 

“Listen, Granger, if Gryffindor wins, do I get a kiss? We could make a bet out of it.”

“I have a boyfriend, Cormac,” she said firmly.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“She meant that you should piss off, McLaggen,” Ron hissed.

“You’re not her boyfriend, are you?” the blond boy asked.

“Bloody hell, no.”

“Where is he then?”

Hermione looked over to the Slytherin table. Draco squinted sleepily at first before recognizing the situation and who exactly was talking to her.

“Draco Malfoy? That’s your boyfriend?” he asked in joking disbelief. “You’re dating a Slytherin rat?”

From the corner of her eye she saw Draco stand and calmly make his way toward the table.

_We managed to go a month without making a scene. That’s not half bad I suppose._

“Sorry, darling, was this dense oaf ruining your lunch?” he asked, kissing her on the head. It wasn't necessarily an act of genuine affection, more so a sign of marked territory. 

“Thankfully I was almost done eating,” she replied.

Draco folded his arms and raised an eyebrow cockily at the seventh-year. “That’s a lot of confidence for a _reserve_ player.”

Normally Hermione strongly disliked that sort of macho posturing, but Cormac was reaping what he sowed, and it was incredibly satisfying to see.

The older boy’s nostrils flared. “We’ll see who wins the match.”

“Save the aggression for cheering from the sidelines,” Draco sneered. 

Clearly outnumbered, Cormac just turned around and left, returning to his seat. 

Draco gave Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek, said “If he talks to you again, I’m hexing him,” and casually strolled back to the Slytherin table.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Ron said under his breath.

Harry whistled. “Made quick work of him.”

“Hopefully that gets him off my back,” she mumbled. “Whenever he so much as looks at me I feel a need to shower.”

Hermione filed into the stands about thirty minutes later, finding herself next to Luna. 

“Hello Hermione,” she said calmly. She always cheered for Gryffindor unless the game was against Ravenclaw.

“I see you have your spirit wear on,” Hermione said.

The spirit wear in question was her signature massive lion headdress. Whenever Luna waved her wand, the lion head roared fiercely. 

The game began. Hermione soon found herself missing Lee Jordan’s humorous, albeit biased commentary. Zachiaras Smith was impartial; he was also much drier. 

She did make sure to cheer extra loudly every time Ron blocked a goal. 

“And that’s a win for Gryffindor, Seeker Harry Potter does indeed have the snitch! Final score is 240-100, Gryffindor.”

Immediate boos and groaning arose from the Slytherin student section, while rancorous shouting drowned it out from the Gryffindors. 

Hermione could see Ron beaming on his broom by the goalposts before diving down to dismount.

In the thicket of students departing the stands, she saw Cormac, still dressed in his Keeper padding, following closely behind her. Her instincts screamed for her to run or evade him somehow, but the crowd was far too dense.

Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen, probably already heading toward the locker rooms to bathe and celebrate. 

Some burly Slytherin elbowed her out of the way and knocked Hermione outside of the tide. 

Before she had a chance to catch up, McLaggen was in front of her with a movie star smile. 

“That was some game, wasn't it?” he said, grinning. “And we won.”

“No thanks to you,” she said.

A quick flash of hurt appeared on his face. “Well, we still won. Don’t you remember our bet?”

“That wasn't a bet. I never agreed.”

“Loosen up, Granger! That boyfriend of yours isn't around, so one kiss doesn't matter.”

 _Chauvinistic pig_.

“You’re disgusting. Get away from me,” she spat, shoving him away. He stumbled backward a few feet.

“What the _bloody_ hell are you doing?” Draco shouted. 

“None of your business,” Cormac replied. 

“Oh, it very much is.” 

“What are you going to do about it? Tell your daddy?”

Draco’s eye twitched. 

“Do you want to fight, is that what you want?” Cormac repeated, squaring up.

Their size difference rapidly became apparent. While Draco wasn't necessarily scrawny, McLaggen was built like a tank. Hermione wanted to intervene but she was absolutely frozen in embarrassment and shock.

_I can’t bloody duel him, it’ll just get us in trouble, and he’s practically twice my size. If I throw a punch I’ll likely break my hand._

“Coward,” the Gryffindor boy sneered. He cocked his fist back and slammed it into Draco’s nose with a sickening thud. There was a visceral cracking noise as a river of blood started to pour from his nostrils. 

The Slytherin slumped to the ground unconscious and Hermione gaped in horror. Cormac had a confident smirk on his face, as if he had done her a favor.

Without pausing to think, she drew her wand threateningly and gestured in the opposite direction.

“Leave right now, and I won’t hex you into next week _and_ get you suspended,” she hissed.

His bravado faded and he dashed away.

Relieved, she addressed Draco’s limp form. Blood was still gurgling from his nose, and a nasty bruise was starting to form around his left eye.

She grimaced and attempted to pick him up.

_No, that’s not going to work._

“ _L_ _evicorpus,_ ” Hermione said. He immediately rose and floated about three feet above the ground. It would have been almost funny to see him like that if she wasn't genuinely concerned. 

With Draco following close behind her, she snuck around to a back entrance of the castle close to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was putting away her field first aid kit that she carried at the sidelines for Quidditch matches.

“Miss Granger, what—” she began. The color drained from her face quickly when she saw the bloodied boy.

“My goodness. Bring him here,” the nurse instructed, patting the bed closest to the door.

Hermione lowered Draco down with her wand and ended the spell. His eyelids (well, _eyelid_ , given that one was swelling shut) were beginning to flutter open and he groaned softly.

Madam Pomfrey tilted his head back and carefully poured an anesthesia potion down his throat to keep him asleep and soothe any pain. Wiping away the dried blood from his upper lip, she assessed the damage.

“He’ll be alright dear, a broken nose is an easy fix. The bruising will go down naturally with icing and elevation.”

The witch quickly cast some sort of nonverbal, wandless healing spell. Hermione was quietly amazed; wandless and nonverbal magic were difficult enough separately.

Draco’s nose made a clicking sort of noise, presumably the cartilage and bone realigning and reattaching. 

Madam Pomfrey adjusted the pillows to support his head and asked, "Now, would you like to tell me how this happened?”

Hermione searched for a believable explanation. As much as she wanted to see Cormac in trouble, she wasn't entirely sure if it was worth the fuss.

“He fell and hit his face on a rock on the grounds,” she said levelly. 

Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

It was the slightest of pressure, but she buckled. “Cormac McLaggen punched him in the face. Unprovoked, I witnessed the whole thing.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to notify his Head of House,” the nurse said solemnly. “However, Draco will be just fine. You can leave if you—”

“Would it be alright if I stayed until he woke up?”

“Of course.”

“Cormac is a Gryffindor, by the way,” Hermione added, reaching for Draco’s hand on the mattress. 

“Thank you, Miss Granger.”

Madam Pomfrey silently ducked out of the hospital wing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *


	6. In a Hospital Room

Draco winced as he came to consciousness an hour or so later. Most of the bruising had gone away when his nose was healed, but the skin still looked tender and his eye was puffy with swelling. He looked a mess. His hair was messy and his tie was visibly stained with blood. Hermione attempted to brush away some of the dirt streaked across his forehead with her thumb.

“What happened?” Draco asked, looking around and seeing where he was.

“Cormac punched you,” Hermione said. “Madam Pomfrey said it broke your nose.”

He scrunched up his face. “It doesn't hurt.”

“She fixed it up, but your eye is still—”

Reflexively, he had reached for his left eye and hissed in pain. “Merlin, _that_ hurts.”

Madam Pomfrey came scurrying around the corner at the sound of Draco’s voice. “There you are, finally awake,” she said cheerily. “Now, open your eyes— _eye,_ for me.”

The nurse cast _Lumos_ and Draco tried his best not to squint. “No concussion at least,” she announced.

She added more pillows to keep him propped up and insisted he keep an enchanted ice pack pressed to his face “for at least the next thirty minutes”. 

As the older witch left, Draco asked, deadpan, “Pardon me, but my memory is a little fuzzy after having my nose broken. Mind giving me context?” 

“Well, he, he tried to kiss me,” Hermione began.

Draco’s mouth curled into a sneer. “That oatmeal-for-brains slug,” he said angrily. “I remember now, he had you cornered.”

“Until you came and Cormac tried to challenge you to a fight. Apparently you didn't answer fast enough.”

“He’s bloody lucky he came away with his limbs. I swear, I’m finding him—” Draco muttered, flinging his blanket away with his free hand. 

Hermione jumped from her chair and gently pushed him back down. “No, stay here,” she said. “First of all, she isn't going to let you leave, and second, you’ll end up far worse trying to fight him again in this state.”

“It wouldn't be physical, I’d just duel him,” Draco retorted.

“As if that’s any better, it would get you expelled just the same!”

He looked rather deflated and pouted a little. 

“In any other circumstances I’d have Petrified him immediately,” Hermione said, shuddering. “Absolute creep.”

There was a knocking at the door and Professor McGonagall let herself in, dressed in her usual tartan. 

“Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger,” she said shortly. “I've received word that Mr. McLaggen attacked you after today’s match.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Professor. He was talking to me, and . . . well, I was rather uncomfortable. Draco attempted to confront Cormac and he got angry.”

“Mr. Malfoy, does that align with your recollection of events?”

He nodded weakly. “Forgive me, McGonagall, if I’m not exactly sharp at the moment,” he mumbled sarcastically, adjusting the cold compress on his face.

“Of course. Thank you, Granger, that information is most helpful,” the professor said. She looked between the two teenagers, the brunette girl in her Gryffindor scarf and the blond boy in bloodstained Slytherin robes.

“You both have become an unexpected source of mischief,” she said under her breath.

The witch adjusted her sleeves and briskly walked out.

“Miss, if you wouldn't mind,” Madam Pomfrey said suddenly. “It's past dinner time and he needs a full night’s rest.”

“Oh.” Hermione glanced hesitantly to Draco, who tilted his head toward the door. 

“I’ll be fine.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and slipped out into the hallway. 

-

The Gryffindor table was rowdy and joyous. Harry and Ron were grinning widely when Hermione sat down.

They didn’t question anything at first—she wasn't ever one for parties and usually didn’t participate in the celebrations after a winning match. 

Harry came in for lunch a few days later and started tearing into a sandwich. Hermione was already sitting down.

“You’re hungry,” she said nonchalantly. “Did you have a good practice?”

He swallowed. “Yeah, actually, it was brilliant. McLaggen wasn't there.”

Hermione blinked a few times. “Do you know why?”

Harry shoveled another bite into his mouth. “McGonagall pulled me aside and said he'd been suspended from the team until further notice.”

_That must have been his punishment._

“I didn’t even ask why, I don't really care if it means I don’t have to deal with him.”

“I happen to know,” Hermione muttered.

He paused his eating to look at her, bewildered. “What?”

“Weren't you wondering where I was after the match on Saturday?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I was trying to leave, but Cormac tried to enforce his stupid bet about kissing me.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “He didn't actually kiss you, did he?”

“Merlin, no. Draco marched over and told him to leave me alone, but Cormac punched him straight in the nose.”

“Out of nowhere?”

“Out of absolutely nowhere. I ended up taking Draco to the hospital wing and told Madam Pomfrey what happened.”

“His temper sure backfired.”

“Apparently it did.”

“I can't believe I’m asking this, but is Malfoy alright? I think McLaggen’s fists are almost the size of his head.”

“He's okay now. He had a rather nasty broken nose and a black eye.”

Ron, who had just sat down, furrowed his brow in confusion. “Who had a broken nose?” he asked.

Hermione quickly explained. 

“So I technically have _Malfoy_ to thank for Cormac getting suspended from the team?” Ron asked, shocked. “The world's gone to hell.”

“I’d say it’s more of a happy coincidence.”

“Win-win, I guess. Malfoy gets docked, McLaggen can't harass me and Ginny anymore.”

“Speaking of,” Harry interjected, “I haven't seen Malfoy around much. He can't still be in the hospital wing.”

“No, he was almost fully recovered by Saturday night,” Hermione said. She eyed the Slytherin table, and his usual seat was empty.

Now that she thought about it, they hadn't spent any time together since he’d been hurt. Even stranger, he still hadn't replied to her owl from yesterday. She was expecting a reply at breakfast that never came.

“He’s probably just busy,” she said dismissively.

“Busy with _what_?” Harry asked. 

“I don't know, why do you care?”

“Geez, ‘Mione, I was just trying to make an observation. I assumed you’d know given you’re his girlfriend.”

“Well, I don’t.”

There was still a lot she didn't fully know about Draco—they’d only been dating for about seven months. 

Hermione tried to reassure herself as she ate that it wasn't that out of the ordinary; he sometimes got moody or anxious and needed time alone for whatever reason. It was perfectly normal to spend time apart, that’s what she’d always heard. 

_It's fine_ , she thought. _I’m sure if something’s wrong he would tell me._  
  
  
  



	7. In The Clear Yet

The weather at Hogwarts was never particularly warm. The castle’s location in the Scottish hills meant brisk breezes and chilly temperatures all year round, but Hermione was feeling the cold now that November was drawing to a close.

She drew her coat around herself a little tighter. She had plans with Draco for a brief stroll through the forest before dinner—with Hagrid’s knowledge and permission for their own safety. The Forbidden Forest was blanketed in snow and thick fog, adding to its mystery and danger. Hermione always thought it looked almost pretty during the winter time, or at the very least, less scary.

Draco’s silhouette appeared in the dim distance. He was dressed appropriately in a black coat, Slytherin scarf, and a fur-lined hat that covered his ears. A hint of a smile tugged on his face as he became more visible. His cheeks were already pink from the wind.

“You look cold,” he said sternly. “Are you dressed warmly enough?”

“I’m alright,” she insisted.

Draco tucked his arm in hers. It was warm and solid and familiar.

Their breath hung about in the air as white puffs while they talked.

“Slughorn asked me to attend a dinner with him on Thursday,” Hermione said cheerfully.

“That sounds nice.”

“Harry’s going too,” she added. “Were you invited?”

“No,” he replied curtly.

Hermione blinked in surprise. “Well, that’s odd. Harry’s been before and he said it was all students with connections. Even Cormac comes because of his uncle in the Ministry. You’ve possibly the most well-known connection in the entire school.”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t much care for Slughorn and if he only wanted me because of my father, I wouldn’t go.”

“I know you don't like being associated with him, but I was hoping you were coming so we could spend some time together. You’ve been quite busy lately.” She paused and shuffled her feet in the dirt.

He didn't really reply, only ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I don't like the idea of Cormac in a room with you,” he said finally.

“He wouldn't try anything in front of a professor, and particularly not with Harry there. You’re changing the subject.”

“Not to be rude—well, it’s rude. He’s incredibly dense, darling.”

Hermione regarded him critically. “Are you being jealous again?”

“I’m not bloody jealous of that git, I just don't like how forward he is with you,” he muttered. “He’s everything I hate about Gryffindors, the brashness, the self-importance, the aggression.”

Draco scratched the side of his nose as if recalling his injury.

“It won't be a problem,” Hermione said firmly. “You don't need to keep worrying about it, you’re exhausted enough.”

“I’m not exhausted—”

“I’ve seen you fall asleep in class twice in the past few days and I’ve never seen you with dark circles.”

“I’ve been studying late. That’s not out of the ordinary.”

“Studying doesn't excuse why we haven't been alone for weeks,” she said harshly.

Draco’s face fell.

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“You're not wrong.”

“I don't care if you want alone time, I’d perhaps just like to be told. I can study with you too, you know. I simply don't want to be lied to by omission and treated like an ignorant child.”

He chewed his bottom lip.

“I appreciate the offer,” Draco said, finally. “You have every right to be angry. I’ve—well, I’ve not exactly been attentive.”

“You do this sometimes, where you shut me out.”

She watched his jaw visibly clench. He’d had something of a difficult time adjusting to being in a relationship, and returning to that after the summer holidays hadn't been smooth either.

“It’s not intentional. My schedule just hasn't had much free time,” he sighed.

“If you say so,” she said, smiling weakly.

“You realize that this isn't your fault? It’s my bloody problem.”

“When you love someone you don't want to see them struggle. In this situation I can't help but feel a little responsible.”

“You shouldn't, Hermione. I can handle myself.”

There was a familiar cocky confidence to his words that didn't match the weathered expression on his face. She rubbed her gloved hands together to warm them.

The tension Draco was holding in his shoulders relaxed as he exhaled and gently took her hands into his. They were shaking a little, from the chill or nerves. She couldn't tell which.

“Remember that I care most about your safety,” he said quietly. “I’m only trying to protect you the best I can.”

She furrowed her brow at him. What is he talking about?

His gaze shifted up to meet hers. “I’m saying that if I do lie, there’s a reason.”

“Alright,” she breathed.

“Good.”

-

As she entered the Gryffindor common room, brushing off small flakes of snow from her clothes, she caught a glance of Ginny sulking by the fire.

“Something wrong?” Hermione asked gently.

“Dean’s saying I spend too much time at Quidditch practice. It’s _bloody_ Quidditch practice, I don’t decide how long it is, Harry does! They share a dormitory, he can take it up with him.”

“It seems all you do is complain about him.”

“I know,” she winced. “Merlin, I feel bloody awful. I’m not trying to break his heart but he’s driving me absolutely insane.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows knowingly and Ginny groaned. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You can't keep doing this if you’re miserable, it’s counter-productive.”

“What am I supposed to do? Tell him I’m—” she cut herself off and started again, “—that I’ve had a crush on Harry this whole time?”

“Well, it’s best to be honest—”

“I can’t _tell_ him that! It’ll only make him feel worse and Harry will get dragged into this.”

“Ginny, lying isn't going to make him feel any better. It's been a few months since we last talked about this, and it appears that nothing’s changed.”

The Weasley exhaled deeply. “You have a point, I suppose. Thanks, Hermione.”

“Of course, you're welcome.”

After a pause Hermione sat down on the floor next to her.

“I caught you saying something.”

Ginny swallowed.

“You corrected yourself from saying you're in l—”

“Keep it down!” the redhead whispered.

“ _In love with Harry_ ,” Hermione repeated, much quieter this time.

“I don't know if I’m in love with him.”

“If you had to stop yourself, you probably are, Ginny.”

“It makes everything so messy,” she mumbled. “He’s literally the bloody Chosen One. Fred and George would never let me hear the last of it either.”

She wiped at her eyes and continued without acknowledging the wetness on her face. “I want to keep the relationship I have with him. We're the best of friends, we joke, we play Quidditch, it’s perfect.”

Hermione chose her words delicately as to not reveal Harry’s secret. “Harry’s understanding, if he didn’t feel the same way I’m sure nothing would change.”

“I’m just afraid it will. And I’m not used to being afraid.”

“Change isn’t always bad, Ginny.”

“I guess you’re right.”

She watched the light of the fire dance across the younger girl’s face. _She’ll be just fine._


	8. Discovered

“I thought you lived in the library now,” Ron joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him.

“Excited for Slughorn’s party?” she asked Harry.

The dark haired boy smiled weakly. “Should be fun, I suppose.”

“Who are you taking?”

His eyes glanced down to his hands for a moment. “Er, well, not sure yet.”

“Ginny’s taking Dean,” Ron snarled.

“You won't have to see it,” she chastised.

“The one benefit of Slughorn deciding to snub me, I suppose. I’m spared one evening of them snogging.”

“I assume you're taking Malfoy?” Harry asked quickly.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I’ve finally managed to convince him it’ll be fun. He needs to relax.”

“Ah, that'll be good, then.”

“I’m sure you can find a date, Harry.”

“Well, it’s tomorrow. I don’t have much time.”

She thought for a moment, going through a mental list of girls in their year whose company Harry enjoyed.

“Could ask Luna,” she suggested.

“Oh, perfect.”

Harry got up and pulled on his coat. “I’m gonna go find her. Probably in Ravenclaw Tower or the grounds, right?”

“Last saw her by Hagrid’s,” Ron said.

“Thanks, mate. I’ll be back.” Harry ducked out.

“Hasn't Malfoy been terribly busy lately?” the Weasley boy asked after a moment of silence.

Hermione scrunched up her nose. “Hasn't everybody? It’s almost the end of term.”

“‘Course, I just think he’s been acting a bit strange.”

She looked at her friend pointedly. “What are you trying to suggest?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Ron said defensively. “Just observing.”

“I’m his girlfriend, do you not think I'd know if something was wrong?”

“Merlin’s beard, that’s what I was asking you!”

“He’s tired, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll get off it then.”

Hermione gnawed on her lower lip. _It’s not like Ron to pay that much attention to anything, much less Draco._

Since their walk, he’d been a bit more attentive, talking to her briefly after breakfast and walking to class together, but the dark circles were still there. Something felt inherently wrong and deeply off, but Hermione couldn't pin what it was. Draco’s aggressive insistence that he was fine didn't soothe the worry much at all.

She tried to focus on Slughorn’s party instead.

-

Hermione waited anxiously in the corridor. She fiddled with her hair and dress, which Ginny had approved enthusiastically before the girls left the Gryffindor common room.

Draco rounded the corner looking dapper in his usual black suit, with a green tie instead of all black. House colors, but suitably festive for a Christmas occasion.

He looked her up and down. “This is lovely,” he said quietly. “I don't believe I've seen you in pink very often.”

She blushed. “Well, it’s a new dress.”

He took her hand and the couple walked down to Slughorn's office. A house elf was guarding the door.

“Hermione Granger, and I have a plus one,” she said.

The elf nodded and crossed her off the list. They opened the door and she thanked them softly.

The atmosphere was cheerful. The office was decorated with candles, wreaths, and gold fabric. A Christmas tree was adorned with shimmering ornaments in the corner. A long table in the center of the room was laid with food of every kind. Celestina Warbeck was playing softly enough to allow for conversation. Slughorn beamed at the sight of Hermione and vigorously shook her hand.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” he said. “Lovely to see you.”

“You too, Professor.”

“I see you came with Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco offered his hand. “Hello, Professor.”

The two exchanged a much stiffer handshake.

“Well, do enjoy yourself!” Slughorn nodded at the couple and returned to mingling.

“See, not all bad,” Hermione said under her breath.

“Thus far,” Draco replied.

“Appetizer?”

Neville stood holding a silver tray of crudités.

“Neville, what are you doing?” she asked, surprised.

“Extra credit.”

“Ah.”

“Do you want some?” he asked again.

“No, thank you, I’m alright.”

The boy raised the platter above their heads and shuffled to get past.

“I’m not particularly hungry,” she said to Draco, “but I am a bit thirsty. Could you find us some butterbeer or eggnog?”

“I’ll do my best,” he said coolly.

As Hermione waited and looked around, she saw Dean awkwardly nursing a mug of butterbeer as Luna and Ginny chatted. Several professors were in attendance, including Professor Snape, who was standing by the far wall.

Harry appeared to be trapped in a one-sided conversation with Slughorn. Her friend kept adjusting his glasses and looking around as if he wanted to make a break for it.

She tentatively started to walk further into the room to look for Draco, who was taking a while, only to be stopped by a tall, muscular figure wearing dress robes with a red tie.

_Merlin’s beard._

“Cormac,” she said tersely.

“Granger,” the blond boy said. “You look gorgeous.”

Her stomach turned watching him look her up and down, and Hermione began to regret the somewhat revealing neckline.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Cormac asked.

“Getting me a drink,” she replied. “Don't you have a date?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don't worry about her,” he said with a wink.

_He is revolting._

“What are you trying to do, Cormac? I thought I made myself very clear last time.”

“I’m trying to get my kiss, Hermione,” he smirked.

He pointed up at the ceiling where a sprig of mistletoe was attached to a garland.

“Absolutely not,” she spat.

McLaggen stepped forward toward her. Hermione backed away, stumbling clumsily into a candelabra. She panicked and fumbled to catch the candle, letting the empty decoration clatter to the floor. She replaced the candle, now extinguished, and glared at the older boy.

“Please go somewhere else before I do something that may get me expelled,” Hermione said firmly.

Cormac’s face went white as a sheet and he slowly walked away.

She cursed fervently under her breath. Harry dashed over to her.

“Oi, what the bloody hell was that with Cormac?”

“Tried to kiss me,” Hermione explained.

“Brilliant. Where’s your date?”

“He was getting me a butterbeer and I suppose McLaggen saw me alone.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “I didn't see Malfoy by the drinks table.”

“What?”

“I excused myself from talking to Slughorn by saying I was thirsty and he wasn't there.”

“Hors d'oeuvre?” Neville asked.

“Not now—” Hermione started. “Wait, what is that? It’s something different.”

“Yes, it’s—” Neville was obviously about to launch into a rehearsed explanation, but she cut him off.

“Will it make my breath bad?”

The boy looked at her thoroughly confused. “Well, there’s garlic in it?”

“Give me the tray.”

Hermione took the platter from Neville and started shoving the crackers into her mouth. _That is garlicky._

Harry was bewildered and gaped at her.

“Anything to keep Cormac away.”

“Er, alright then. I was saying that I haven't seen Malfoy.”

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere sulking. He didn't really want to come.”

She swallowed the food that was in her mouth and hastily pushed the tray into Harry’s hands.

“Sorry, I’m going to go look for him.”

Hermione carefully made her way around the clusters of people and waved to anyone who acknowledged her. She made it to the mentioned drinks table and found it empty, save for Luna refilling her punch glass.  
Her silver dress robes glinted and sparkled in the warm light, and she was wearing star earrings.

“Hello, Hermione,” she said sweetly. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I’m having an alright time.”

“Did you come with Draco?”

Hermione nodded.

“I saw him leave,” Luna said.

“You what?”

“Saw him leave. Ducked out of the door about ten minutes ago.”

Hermione’s jaw hung open. "Oh."

She tried not to shove through the crowd of attendees on her way back to the entrance and out into the hall.

She exhaled a long shaking breath and gathered her wits. _Draco probably just left because he got overwhelmed or something._

She stood for a moment trying to think of where he likely went. The Slytherin common room was first to come to Hermione’s mind, but she wouldn't be able to get in. The second option, however, was far more accessible.

Hermione started to walk to the seventh floor. The castle was drafty against her bare arms and she began to wish she’d brought a shawl.

Once she had arrived in front of the tapestry, she thought about finding Draco as she paced back and forth. After a few moments a door materialized. It was unfamiliar—certainly not the door to their normal room. In spite of her confusion, she turned the handle and gently pushed it open.

The room was a towering cavern. Piles of mysterious objects, mostly debris, formed mountains that were scattered around the space. It was dim and dirty looking.

An altogether different chill spread through Hermione’s body, and she stepped forward hesitantly. She drew her wand.

_I’m rather glad I took this now._

There was a sudden clattering noise and she flinched. Her breathing grew heavier as she moved in the direction she thought the sound had come from.

_Did the Room malfunction? That’s not possible, is it?_

Hermione’s wand hand was visibly shaking and she tightened her grip. As she rounded a corner, a head of blond hair became visible and she whispered, “Draco?”

He turned around with a shocked expression. He stood in front of a dark lacquered cabinet or hutch of some sort, which was half open.

More importantly, his suit jacket was rumpled and the sleeves were pushed up over his forearms.

Her lips parted involuntarily in absolute horror at the sight of a black emblem on his pale skin—a Dark Mark.


	9. Black and White

“Expelliarmus!”

Her wand flew from her hand and spun out across the plain floor. Terror set in, and Hermione’s mouth went dry.

_He’s going to kill me. He was lying all along, he’s going to kill me._

Draco’s jaw set itself like concrete. His eyes looked empty and emotionless.

Her gaze darted to her wand which was laying uselessly on the ground. She didn't know enough wandless defense spells to actually do anything.

Tears quickly came to her eyes and one spilled over onto her cheek.

His hand stayed at his side, holding his wand but not moving.

“Hermione,” he said hoarsely.

Draco cleared his throat and repeated, “Hermione.” His tone was now incredibly soft and gentle, as if he were speaking to a frightened child.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come out.

“I—I know how this looks,” Draco began.

He gently crouched down to put his wand on the floor, and Hermione flinched at the movement. He held up his palms in submission and raised his eyebrows.

_Run run run run run._

She turned and bolted.

Her heels were not ideal for running, but there wasn't enough time to kick them off and she didn't really care about a twisted ankle if she escaped alive. The surge of adrenaline in her blood as it coursed through her body blocked out any discomfort her feet were feeling.

She nearly crashed into the door and fumbled with the doorknob. Her sweaty hands couldn't get a solid grip.

Hermione started to shake the knob violently and pushed against the door with all her weight, panicking as she heard Draco’s surprisingly slow gait catch up.

“Dammit, OPEN!” she cursed under her breath.

The door soon gave way as if she’d actually cast an unlocking spell.

She slammed it shut behind and watched the entrance melt back into a stone wall.

Gathering her shoes in her hands now, Hermione dashed down the steps and back to Slughorn’s office.

_I’m not sure how much time I have. I left my bloody wand in there too, Merlin’s bloody beard._

She slowed her pace and pretended like she wasn't barefoot as she entered the party again. Hermione smiled politely at her friends and firmly elbowed her way through the guests to find Harry.

She didn't really need to say anything, the expression on her face said enough for him to know something was very wrong.

Harry ran his tongue over his lower lip and set his butterbeer down on the nearest flat surface. “Sorry, we, I’ll be ba—” he took another look at Hermione. “Actually, I won’t be back.”

His conversation partner, an older Ravenclaw boy, didn't seem to care much. She tugged her friend away by the wrist.

“Oi, what was that about? You look furious,” he said, rubbing his arm dramatically once they were out in the hall.

“Listen to me. Listen carefully, because I can scarcely believe what I just saw either,” she said firmly. “Remember back in October when Katie was cursed by that necklace? All the weird things we couldn't explain, and you always said Draco was acting strangely?”

“Er, yeah? ‘Course I do.”

“I—I saw Draco’s arm, Harry. There’s a Dark Mark.”

Harry’s face went the color of fresh snow and he blinked a few times.

“There’s a what?”

“A Dark Mark.”

“Trust me, I bloody heard you.”

“I don’t know what he’s doing, exactly. He was in the Room of Requirement and it looked different than it ever has. There was this, this cabinet—”

“A cabinet?” he asked, his eyes suddenly snapping into focus.

Hermione nodded. Harry cursed furiously under his breath.

“Merlin, Hermione. I saw—I saw Malfoy at Borgin and Burke’s over the summer with a Vanishing Cabinet.”

Her pulse quickened again as she remembered exactly what Vanishing Cabinets were.

“That’s why I’ve been so bloody suspicious of him this whole time, that nasty git,” Harry swore. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No, I, I left. Very quickly. He disarmed me and I just ran. My wand is still in there, actually.”

Harry ran his tongue over his front teeth. “This isn't good,” he muttered.

“I’m afraid that’s an incredible understatement,” Hermione said.

“Do you know if you’ll be able to get your wand?”

“I’m not particularly concerned with that at the moment, I’m more worried about Draco apparently being a Death Eater,” she replied harshly, her voice raising to a near-shout.

He gently put a hand on her shoulder and shushed her. “I know you're upset,” he said.

Hermione’s eyes watered heavily and Harry pulled her into his chest as she burst into tears.

“I don't know what to think anymore, Harry. He told me he never wanted to be anything like his father, he said, he said that’s not what he was,” she said, muffled by Harry's dress robes.

“People lie sometimes.”

“I don't want to believe it, but he has the Mark. It was right there.”

“At the very least you’re alright. I’m surprised he didn't do worse than disarm you.”

“I’m grateful,” she said softly.

“Me too.”

Hermione pulled away and wiped at her face. “Is Slughorn going to notice that his favorite student is gone?” she joked.

“I hope not,” he groaned. “I wasn't having that much fun anyway.”

“Well, first I’m going to try to get my wand back, and then I’m going to bed.”

“Let me come with you, you’re unarmed and you don’t know if Malfoy’s still there.”

She pressed her lips together. “Alright.”

Hermione put her shoes back on and Harry drew his wand.

As they ascended the stairs, he muttered, “Ron’s not going to believe this.”

“Ron is going to go mental,” she said.

“We have to tell Dumbledore first, though.”

Hermione paused. “Why?”

“Why?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Draco’s a bloody Death Eater, that’s why! He tried to kill Katie Bell and he probably would have killed you given the chance!”

Her hand went to the necklace at her collarbone. The metal of it was normally warmed to body temperature, but it felt icy against her fingers now.

Harry’s eyes fell to the pendant.

“I’m sorry, 'Mione.”

“You’re not the one who has to be sorry.” She dropped her hand and continued up the staircase.

Upon arrival at the Room of Requirement, Harry stood back.

“Right, go ahead.”

Taking a long breath, Hermione thought of her wand where she had last seen it, laying useless on the floor of that odd room.

A very very small door, almost like a cupboard, appeared. She reached her hand inside and drew out her wand, which was clean and appeared to be untouched. She turned it over a few times as if making sure it was real.

_Well, suppose there's only one way to really make sure._

“Incendio,” she said quietly. An orange flame jetted out of the end of her wand, and relief flooded her body.

Hermione extinguished the fire.

Harry tucked his wand back into his pocket. “Good.”

They went back down the stairs in comforting silence. They parted at the base, her dark-haired friend returning to Slughorn’s party, while she went toward Gryffindor tower.

Hermione slumped onto her bed, exhausted, and cried.


	10. The Monsters

Hermione looked out of the window over the misty grounds. It had been a week since they had returned from Christmas holidays and she had ignored Draco’s attempts at communication. Once he moved on from letters and started to approach her in the hallways after class, Hermione hurried away or pretended to be busy in a conversation with someone else.

“You realize you can’t keep this secret forever?”

She bit her tongue. “Of course, Harry.”

“We have to tell Dumbledore. It’s for the safety of the whole school.”

“We still don't even know what he was doing!” Hermione protested.

“Clearly it's nothing good if he had the bloody _Dark Mark_ ,” Harry replied, whispering the last two words.

“Listen, ‘Mione, I want to know what’s going on too, but I can't let you be alone with him,” he began.

“Let me? Am I an ill-behaved child?”

“That’s not what I mean, I mean that he’s dangerous and I won't see you hurt or killed because of it,” Harry snapped. “Have you not opened any of his letters still?”

Hermione’s gaze drifted to her bag. “No.”

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked gingerly.

Without a word, she hoisted the bag up onto the table and pulled out a bundle of envelopes tied with string.

“Right, thank you.”

Harry roughly broke the green seals and started to read each parchment. After several minutes, his eyes furrowed behind his spectacles and he set aside the pile in frustration.

“No details,” he said. “Just pleas for you to talk to him.”

Hermione swallowed. “I’ll read them.”

As she looked them over, it appeared Harry was correct—each letter grew increasingly desperate and concerned. They regretfully still tugged at her chest and she had to put them down.

“There's no evidence there,” she admitted.

“I do know of someone who could actually find out what’s happening,” Harry said, leaning back.

“Why do you always insist that Dumbledore is the solution?”

“Why aren't you more eager to rat on someone breaking the rules?”

“It’s complicated,” she said quietly.

“Of bloody course it is, Hermione. We can't figure it out by ourselves.”

“What if I speak to Draco with you there?”

Harry looked fed up. “He's not going to tell the truth if he sees me crouched behind the bushes like Muggle paparazzi.”

“You have the cloak, he wouldn't know a thing.”

He pondered the idea. “It’s not ideal.”

“Nothing really is at the moment.”

The dark-haired boy exhaled. “Right then. Better set a time and place.”

He dug around in Hermione’s bag, which still was half open on the table, and pushed a quill and parchment across the table at her.

“Write him back, say you want to talk at the Quidditch pitch. Public enough that he shouldn't try anything funny,”

“What day?”

“Saturday? It’s the most flexible.”

“Dearest Draco,” she said aloud, beginning to write, “I’m so very sorry I haven't replied sooner. I've been meaning to speak with you, and haven't found the time. To be fully honest . . . I needed to process what happened after Professor Slughorn’s party?”

Harry nodded in approval. “Keep going.”

“In keeping with our tradition, I was hoping we could talk this Saturday, after lunch, on the Quidditch pitch. It feels necessary to have this conversation in person. Signed, Hermione.”

“That should do.”

She set down the quill and fumbled for her wax to seal the letter.

“I'll get this to Astra, then,” she said, pulling on her coat.

“I’ll be there early, don’t worry about me,” he assured her. “I’m sure I can hide somewhere inconspicuous.”

Hermione left the common room and shoved the letter in one of her pockets. The stairs up to the Owlery were slick with ice, and the wind whipped her hair around. Her cheeks were stinging and pink once Hermione had reached the top.

Astra was hooting calmly in her usual perch, and the girl appeased the bird with a few strokes between the ears. Hermione tied the letter to the owl’s leg, and she chirped in reply.

_I suppose Draco will get it at breakfast tomorrow, then. I forgot that there aren't windows in the Slytherin dormitories._

The chill was getting worse as the sun had gone down hours prior, so Hermione gingerly descended the staircase and cast a heating charm on her freezing hands.

-

Three days later, Hermione watched Harry stuff the entire Invisibility Cloak into his pocket.

“See, barely noticeable!” he announced, smoothing over the slight bump in his robes.

“It’ll have to do,” she said more soberly.

The two ducked out of the common room and joined the flood of students walking to lunch, staying in the back.

“You got a reply, right? He’s actually coming?”

Hermione nodded. “He said he would meet me there, so you might have to move quickly.”

He chewed his bottom lip and polished his glasses on the hem of his sweater. “Guess I can toss it on in the courtyard and walk to the pitch like that?”

“I don't really need to know the details, Harry, just tell me about where you’ll be.”

“Goalposts.”

“Right. I’ll look there if I need anything.”

Ron was already there and loading his plate. “Oi.”

“Hi, Ron,” Hermione said.

The boy scrunched his face up and furrowed his eyebrows. “Why do you two look so smug?”

“What are you on about?” Harry asked.

“You look like you’re up to something, I know that face. Same one Fred and George had when they pranked me when we were little. Before they got better at it, I mean.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

Ron grumbled something unintelligible.

Harry ate hurriedly and muttered an excuse to the table before leaving. Hermione casually said goodbye and tried to stomach a few more bites.

Draco’s slick blond hair caught the light as he stood and hugged the corner into the hallway a few moments later. She abandoned her plate and put her scarf back on, tugging her hat down over her ears to brace for the cold.

The sky was blue and clear. A whipping wind stung Hermione’s nose as she walked. Thick, marshmallow-white snow covered the entirety of the grounds, with the exception of the pitch. Her stomach churned with anxiety and Hermione felt around her pocket to remind herself that she had her wand.

_Harry's here. You’ll be fine._

Draco stood in a black winter coat, looking chilly and stiff. There was a slump to his shoulders.

“Hermione,” he said.

“Draco,” she replied, trying not to sound uncomfortable.

“I was beginning to think you had started burning my letters.” A formal edge in his tone made his voice sound foreign, more like Malfoy rather than Draco.

“It did take me some time to read them.”

“Not for their length, I assume.”

“No.”

Hermione ignored the compulsion to glance toward the opposite end of the pitch toward the goals.

“I was rather convinced you wouldn't speak to me again,” Draco said, now soft.

“I almost thought the same.”

He bristled for a split second. “I suppose I can't blame you. I have not proven to be particularly consistent.”

“I believe that’s an inappropriately casual way of putting it.”

“Perhaps it is.”

The wind was the only one who spoke for a second.

“I understand the incriminating circumstances you saw me in. The Mark, the Cabinet, disarming you.”

Hermione flinched as he took a step forward.

“I need you to understand that I only used Expelliarmus for my own safety.”

She furrowed her brow. “Is that not the same reason any witch or wizard uses it? It’s a _disarming_ spell—”

“I believed you would have harmed me without listening to me first.”

“What explanation do you have for what I saw?”

His lips, pale in the winter air, closed and straightened.

“You are aware of the rather intense home environment I live in.”

“Of course.”

“You also know of my family's allegiance to Lord Voldemort.”

“It’s common knowledge.”

Draco withdrew one arm from his coat and pushed up the sleeve of his shirt. The tattoo was inky black on his skin, and the snake, curled around the skull, was pulsing and twisting in a way that made Hermione want to gag.

“Part of keeping you protected is playing my part. That’s what I did in the Owlery last year. I’m not expecting gratitude for it, I just expect you to get used to it.” The words held no snark or clever wit—they almost sounded like begging.

Hermione felt her sympathy turn toward Draco for a moment. In the snowy weather, with his tired eyes and slumped frame, he looked harmless. She steeled herself.

“What were you doing with the Cabinet, Draco?”

He squinted at her.

“I said, what were you doing with it?”

His grey gaze fell. “I can't tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Hermione, I have told you why. I can't have you implicated in this. It could get you expelled, or killed, or both.”

“Will you always shelter me like this? Treat me like a child who can’t be trusted to let the cat out of the bag?” she shouted.

Suddenly, ice cold hands were gripped tightly on her shoulders and kept her frozen in place. Draco’s eyes were wide and focused.

“It doesn't matter if you can keep a secret, darling, the Dark Lord will get it out of you. Only the strongest wizards can resist, and even then they eventually fail.”

“Don’t call me darling,” she said softly.

“What?”

Hermione felt hysterical but no longer cared. She jerked her shoulders away from his grip, which released easily. Her lower lip trembled.

“You heard me perfectly well, do not call me darling. I will not be made a fool by a traitor and a _bloody Death Eater_ who claims to love me. How am I supposed to trust you?!"

“I do love you—”

“How can you say that when your allegiance is to a man who wants everyone like me DEAD?”

Draco had gone silent and his mouth fell open. Puffs of white breath clouded around his face. He hesitantly took another step forward but Hermione quickly drew her wand. Hot tears streamed down her face despite her fierce expression.

“Don't even think about disarming me. I don't want a duel, I want you to get out of my sight.”

As Draco slowly trudged back to the castle in the snow, Hermione kept her wand fixed at him until his figure was too small to see clearly. Her hand shook, whether from shock, or fear, or cold, she couldn't tell.


	11. Bad Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: emetophobia (nausea mention)
> 
> i'm so sorry for this accidental hiatus—i'm american and the election stressed me out incredibly and i couldn't find time to dedicate to finishing a chapter and publishing it. i can't make any promises, but i will try to update more consistently in the future! merry christmas eve eve to all who celebrate <3

Harry must have emerged from his cloak and crossed the pitch in the time that Hermione was standing there, because she felt his hand brush her shoulder. She reflexively jumped a little and lowered her wand.

“Oi, are you alright?” he asked.

“No.” Her lips were held tightly together and her hands were visibly shaking even more.

“You don't have to give me details, ‘Mione, let’s just get you out of the cold,” Harry said gently, patting her back. “We’ve got to go to class in a few minutes.” He shoved the cloak back into his robes. Hermione snapped out of her haze and soon noticed that she was shivering violently.

She started to walk stiffly toward the castle, while he followed closely behind. She wanted to cry but she couldn't, the weight in her chest was too overwhelming.

Once Hermione had warmed up, the dark haired boy brushed the snow from her hair and shoulders and squinted at her.

“Should I send you to the hospital wing? Are you sure you can go to class because I’m not going to judge you if you can’t or anything, you seem a little rough—” he stammered.

“I’m alright,” she said briskly. “I don't want to do make-up work, I refuse to be behind on top of all this.”

“Right, erm, if you insist.”

“Don’t worry about me, this is clearly for the best.”

“I didn't hear any of it, obviously, but it seemed rather clear,” he muttered. “I know I was sort of encouraging it, but I’m sorry, Hermione. It's bloody awful.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not trying to worry you,” Harry began, “but I’m a bit worried as to what this means for your safety.”

“Being Draco’s girlfriend wasn't exactly safe to begin with,” she replied, shifting her weight.

“Trust me, I know, I just mean—I dunno if he'll try to hurt you.”

“Suppose we’ll see soon enough,” she said darkly.

Harry's body tensed with anger. “Merlin,” he cursed. “I hate that slimy bastard. I bloody knew it.”

“I do think you’re right though. We should tell Dumbledore.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and the two started to walk to class together. “We couldn't get any helpful information alone.”

“I’m not surprised he refused to tell you.”

“You do know what a Vanishing Cabinet is and what it does?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Of course I do.”

“I have a very bad feeling about what exactly Draco was doing, I’ll leave it at that.”

-

Hermione felt as if a dark cloud was following her for the rest of the day. Wherever her mind wandered, Draco was always there. The pendant around her neck felt heavy and ice cold, and it was incredibly difficult to focus on anything besides her own anxiety. The consequences of the past few days still didn't seem real, and especially the events of that afternoon. Harry had kept a close but subtle eye on her all day, constantly glancing in her direction during class.

She trudged into the common room after dinner and warmed her hands in front of the fire. Even the relatively tame background noise was overstimulating, and she tried to focus on the soft crackling instead of the conversations and rustling parchment.

Ginny came in after a moment and furrowed her brow at Hermione. “You look a bit worse for wear,” she said. “Everything alright?”

She looked up at the younger girl and bit her tongue. _I can't tell her the truth._

Smiling weakly, Hermione nodded. “I’m alright, Ginny, thank you.”

“Whatever you say, then. I haven't had the easiest day myself.”

Her ears perked up. “Why is that?”

“I’m not going out with Dean anymore,” Ginny muttered quietly.

Hermione’s reaction was a mixture of feigned and genuine surprise. “I’m so sorry,” she said immediately.

“Ah, don’t be. You knew it was coming better than anyone.”

“Well, of course, that doesn't mean it’s not sad.”

“Dean looked bloody crushed,” Ginny said. “We’d fought the day before and I was just done with him, just said we were through.”

“Poor Dean.”

“Hopefully he finds someone who actually returns his feelings,” she replied in a somber tone.

“That does remind me,” Hermione said with a lilt.

“Bloody hell,” Ginny cursed. Her face was pink under her mess of freckles. “I just broke up with Dean!”

“So? You said yourself you’ve been in lo—”

Suddenly the Weasley girl smacked Hermione’s nearest hand. The brunette yanked it away in shock.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry. Just. That word,” she stammered. Ginny promptly lowered her tone to a bare whisper. “The l word. It was different when I was with Dean but it’s too real now.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I won't say it aloud again then. My point is, you’ve had very strong feelings for Harry for years. You've waited long enough.”

“You seem incredibly confident about all this.”

“You're usually the confident one. Since when are you so hesitant to go after what you want?”

“I've told you! I don't want to ruin my friendship with him. We're like best mates.”

“I do suppose that makes sense.”

“Why do you look so glum anyway? You didn't want to tell me, so it must be bad.”

“It’s too complicated.”

Ginny squinted at her. “Is it Draco?”

“Ginny, I told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hermione’s words came out harsher than intended and Ginny looked a bit taken aback.

“Sorry for pushing it,” the younger girl said softly.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, I’m just tired.”

“Apology accepted then.” The redhead brushed off her robes and stood, giving Hermione a quick hug before climbing the stairs to her dormitory.

The older girl was left sitting on the plush couch, and she drew a red blanket around herself.

Hermione remembered the tenderness in Draco’s voice when he spoke to her in the Room of Requirement and it made her want to gag. His eyes had looked so soft and almost watery as he pleaded with her to listen. Now all the image brought to her was nausea and blind, burning anger.

_I can’t believe he would lie to me like that for so long. He even did that whole stunt with his father last year and tricked me into thinking it was all to protect me!_

As she recalled the incident in the Owlery, Snape’s lecture came flooding back. She hated the idea that the professor was right, but a sinking feeling told her that he probably was. Hermione fumbled for the clasp of her necklace and tossed it aside.

She wanted to vomit or cry or scream, but just sat still and frozen on that couch.

-

Harry was looking at her expectantly the next morning at breakfast. Hermione swallowed her porridge and squinted.

“Do you want something?” she asked slowly. “We don't have exams today, I helped with your homework, what do you—”

“Not that.”

He tilted his head toward the front of the room at the head table.

“Ah.”

Ron groaned under his breath and kept eating.

Hermione’s eyes darted toward the ginger boy then back to Harry. “Wait, did you tell him?”

“Bloody finally, yeah. You've been sitting on this since before winter holidays!” Ron snapped.

“Not saying something was my idea,” Hermione said, feeling guilty. “I wanted time to think.”

Ron’s face softened immediately. “I’m not actually mad, just teasing. I’m glad you got out alive,” he said.

“That aside, I’m telling you, we have to tell Dumbledore now. We’ve been on borrowed time ever since Slughorn’s party, and even more so now since you broke up with Draco on Saturday,” Harry said darkly. “If he’s going to retaliate. it’ll be soon.”

“Again, I’m not saying you're wrong, I agree with you—I just worry. What can Dumbledore really do?” she asked.

“He can tell the Ministry! He can investigate! He can do much more than we bloody can!” The dark-haired boy’s voice was deadly quiet but harsh.

“The Ministry doesn't even believe that Voldemort’s back,” Hermione mumbled.

He seemed to ignore what she’d said under her breath.

“Wel, more than anything, what’s most important is keeping you safe, ‘Mione,” Harry continued in a kinder tone. “I don't want you out alone past certain hours. Walk with a friend to classes. If you study, do it with me or Ron or in the common room.”

“You’re doing this again? Merlin's beard, are you two my parents?” she asked, incensed.

“I’m not trying to be overbearing, I’m trying to keep you alive. Draco’s never alone, he always has Crabbe or Goyle with him if he isn't off sulking, and they could overpower you with no effort. Magic or no.”

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. “I understand your concern, but what’s the measure for when it's safe?”

“Prolly once Dumbledore catches wind and starts looking into this?” Ron suggested. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to protect you while that’s happening.”

“This is only for the meantime,” Harry assured her.

“If Fred and George were here, they would volunteer to be your bodyguards,” Ron joked.

In spite of the tense mood Hermione gave a small smile.

Harry was fixed on Dean Thomas at the far end of the table. “Looks to be in a bad mood,” he mumbled.

“Dean? Oh, he and Ginny aren't together anymore,” Hermione said casually. “That would explain it.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “Are they really?”

“She didn't tell you?”

“Blimey, that's cause for celebration! Christmas has come again!” he declared.

She ignored Ron’s joyous reaction and snuck a glance at Harry. He was flushed and there was an awkward, dreamy half smile on his face.

“You know what that means,” Hermione mouthed silently.

The flush only deepened and Harry quickly hid his face in his goblet by chugging water. Ron was thoroughly distracted by his own glee and barely seemed to notice.


End file.
